


there was never a choice

by pndaahs



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon looks like Elia, Aegon's Conquest, Dragons, Dunk and Egg - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, For reasons, Grief/Mourning, House Martell, House Stark, House Targaryen, I fucking hate season 8, Loss, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaenys looks like Rhaegar, The original family of Starks, Time Travel, Valyria, battles, fire&blood, pairings will be tagged as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pndaahs/pseuds/pndaahs
Summary: !The tagged relationships’ order do not reflect their importance in the story. The most important ones will be tagged later because otherwise they will give away the plot!Ned Stark has survived his journey to the Capital. No one knows how. The War of Five King’s never happened. What started as rumors, now is known: the Targaryens are in Essos getting stronger by the day. It is said that they have brought dragons back to life. No scouts who had returned to the Capital confirmed such claims. The truth about present is impossible to uncover. The Spider himself cannot rely on his birds across the Narrow Sea. Something changing but no one is able to say what and where.Meanwhile, the North has declared its separation from the Crown. After it has become public knowledge across all Seven Kingdoms that the Silver Prince did not kidnap Lady Lyanna but loved and married her, the friendship between old friends, Robert and Ned,  ceased to exist. The North is considered to be in open rebellion.Soon the Game will begin anew and not a single soul knows what to expect.Except for...
Relationships: Aegon I Targaryen/Rhaenys Targaryen (Sister of Aegon I)/Visenya Targaryen (Sister of Aegon I), Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Elia Martell & Rhaegar Targaryen, House Targaryen - Relationship, Jon Snow & Aegon VI Targaryen & Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia), Jon Snow & Ned Stark, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lysa Tully Arryn/Petyr Baelish, house stark - Relationship, the most important ones won't be mentioned because it'll give away the plot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write this for the longest time so here we go.  
> I mostly stick to canon about everything before season 6 but not really. More characters has survived who are essential to the story. Ned has survived going South but nobody knows how. The entire realm know about Jon’s parentage. Daenerys never married Khal Drogo and Viserys rumored to be nothing like his father. Jon has joined the Night’s Watch and, while Lord Commander Mormont has been missing, was elected to be Lord Commander. And got murdered. The war of the Five Kings never really happened.  
> There will be huge time jumps. But it’s not your typical time-travel story tho
> 
> obviously, I don’t own any characters. All of it belongs to G. Martin. It is just my vision of his story. What ifs, so to say.

Sun and snow were blinding him. After another night in a row of fighting off the wights alongside brothers of Night’s Watch and free folk, all Jon wanted was rest. The short journey from beyond the Wall to Castle Black seemed endless with his furs weighing him down and a new wound on his leg making him hiss with every step his horse made. _It is going to scar,_ he thought absentmindedly. He found he no longer had it in himself to care. 

His horse was as exhausted as he was. If not more. A poor creature was restless, unused to the fright of walking dead. It did admirably, considering it had never crossed the Wall before. Much better than some of his new brothers. They lost six brothers this night. Yesterday they lost three. The day before there were four. Their numbers were thinning quickly despite all the free folk that crossed the Wall daily. There were too few fighting men and women. Most of them being children, crippled men and elderly people. They could not man the Wall and defend the Realm. He did not know how long they had until all that was left were corpses on both sides of the Wall.

Jon was tired of the fight with the dead. The last three, give or take, years weared him down more than he could ever express. He would never admit it aloud but it was starting to become a struggle to put on a brave face in front of the men. There seemed to be no end to this war. 

His bone deep tiredness seemed to have magnified thousandfold after that cold night that still brought him nightmares.

After the night they killed him.

It was not supposed to happen. Lord Commander Mormont was not supposed to have gone missing for almost two years on their trip beyond the Wall. He was not supposed to have lived with the Free Folk or to fall in love and bed one or try to save them from the Others and the cold winds and death that they bring with them and allow them safe passage through the gates of Castle Black. He was not supposed to become Lord Commander at sixteen. He was not supposed to be murdered in cold blood by his own brothers.   
But above all, he was not supposed to have found out about his _mother_ from the letter sent from King’s Landing by the Lord Hand, Jon Arryn, stating that if he ever so much as showed his nose south of the North, he would lose his head instantly. 

In his wildest dreams he could not have imagined his mother being Lady Lyanna of House Stark. His dead aunt whose bones he passed by every time he paid his respects to his grandfather Rickard and uncle Brandon. He rarely acknowledged her for his father never talked about his sister and Jon knew very little about her. He still knew next to nothing of her. 

_Wild,_ people called her. A wild beaty and an excellent rider. She loved blue roses and desired her freedom above else. Could not bear to marry the whoring drunk of a Lord of Storm’s End and ran away with the Crown Prince, condemning the Seven Kingdoms to war.

He did not know what to make of his parents so he avoided thinking of them at all cost. 

That letter from the Capital came as a complete surprise. Lord Stark promised to speak of his mother the next time they saw each other as Jon was leaving for Night’s Watch but after the time he had spent as Robert Baratheon’s Lord Hand, while Jon Arryn was recovering from a sudden illness in the safety of the walls of Dragonstone, he did not leave Winterfell. Jon thought that the reason for that was the injury he had suffered by the Kingslayer after Lady Stark had captured his younger brother, Lord Tyrion. He thought little of it, nurturing the hope that one day he would be allowed to leave Castle Black for a little while to visit his family the way his uncle Benjen was. 

Everyone had heard of the falling out between the King and the Warden of the North that resulted in brief imprisonment of Eddard Stark. The rumor went that King Robert was furious with his best friend, attacking him in broad daylight in the middle of the Council meeting, proclaiming his oldest friend _the traitorous son of a whore_ and calling for his head right then and there. Only with the swaying of his foster father, who by that time had returned to the Capital and was catching up with everything he missed to resume his role of the Hand, His Grace agreed not to make any rash decisions. For over a year not a single soul apart from the King, Lord Stark, Lord Arryn and Varys knew the circumstances of their fight. Lord Eddard was thrown in Black Cells as a mere criminal and nothing Lord Jon said convinced the King to exercise mercy. No explanation was given leaving the North, the Realm and the Starks completely in the dark. His brother Robb had little choice but to call the banners when there was no news of his father’s fate for over two moons and no reasoning for his incarceration, and to leave the safety of his home with Bran acting Lord of Winterfell and Rickon, who was too young to understand what was happening and the danger his family found itself in. His sisters, who were smuggled out days before the imprisonment by unknown forces, reached the White Harbor and were safely guarded by Wyman Manderly at New Castle until Robb gave the order to bring them home. The northern army had never crossed the Neck or faced the troops of House Baratheon or Lannister. By the grace of gods, it seemed, it never came to war for Lord Stark had somehow managed to escape and arrive at Greywater just before his son was to cross the Neck. 

And still the Realm was ignorant of what had transpired between two old friends that made all the love and affection disappear without a trace. 

King Robert was enraged by Stark’s swift departure. He was barely convinced by his advisors to send Eddard to Castle Black and now was raging and threatening war. What only added fuel to that fire was that all sources of information from Essos were cut rather unexpectedly and abruptly. So on top of whatever was troubling the King in regard to his former friend, the absence of any news of the bane of Robert’s existence, the Targaryens - the Beggar King Viserys and his younger sister, Daenerys, was driving the Baratheon mad. It did not help that the last thing they heard was the upcoming marriage of the girl. To whom? They never got the chance to find out. The worst part being that the girl was named Queen by her own brother who was older and had better claim to the Iron Throne. The news made no sense. And with no informans coming forward, the High Council was growing uneasy. 

Only a year and a half after Jon had joined the Night’s Watch the truth came out at last. Lord Stark’s honor turned out to be completely untainted for his bastard son was no bastard but a nephew to him, born from the marriage of his beloved sister, the Lady Lyanna and the Crown Prince, Rhaegar of House Targaryen. Lyanna loved her prince and went willingly with him. When the Silver Prince fell at the Trident, the young mother made her brother promise to save the babe, no matter the cost. The hatred Robert Baratheon bore for the House of dragonlords was well-known across the Kingdoms, especially by the man who knew the Lord of Storm’s End best, Eddard Stark. So he claimed the trueborn prince as his bastard and took him to his mother’s home, never to speak the boy’s true parentage to another soul. 

The information spread like wildfire. Everyone knew. Every highborn lord, every merchant, every whore and every single peasant in the entire Westeros. It was undoubtedly that the news had reached Jon’s royal uncle and aunt but there was not a single word from Essos so their reaction to this revelation remained unknown. What also remained unknown was how the news of Jon reached every single corner of the Seven Kingdoms _overnight_. The royal family raged like there was no tomorrow. Robert was ready to send his men to make care of the boy. But with every person aware of the prince’s existence, it was the most unadvised decision. 

But even with that in mind, the only thing that swayed the King’s hand was the fact that Jon Snow was the brother of the Night’s Watch and had joined willingly. That fact endeared the lost prince to smallfolk who out of the blue started considering the Night’s Watch _a noble calling_ like it was in the times of old. 

Ironically, as Jon himself thought, the last person to find out the truth about his birth parents was Jon himself. He had spent more than a year beyond the Wall and with the threat of Wildlings’ coming to cross the Wall _comes what may,_ the news that shook the Kingdom arrived only days before Lord Eddard Stark had reached Castle Black himself, injured leg and all. Jon never spoke to his uncle. As soon as the watchers took notice of the party with Stark banners, the newly appointed Lord Commander departed for the Frostfangs to treat with Mance Rayder, leaving maester Aemon to speak with the Lord of Winterfell. Ned spent nearly one and a half moon with the Night’s Watch, waiting for Jon, too stubborn to leave. He noted the state of the military order. He also was shown the wights which resulted in his rapid departure for Winterfell and calling in all the lords from every corner of the North. 

Jon came back with a peace treaty and declared Free Folk a friend to the Night’s Watch for the original purpose of one of the oldest orders of Seven Kingdoms was to fight the Others, not the wildlings. There were some that voiced their disagreement but nothing too dire. With Mormont still missing and considered dead, Lord Commander Snow’s orders were carried out swiftly and without questions. 

Up until they were not and he was stabbed, repeatedly, in the inner courtyard of the place he was beginning to see as his second home.

He could still see their faces, looking down at him, smirking wickedly, proud of their work. The traitors who butchered him and then watched him bleed out. He could recall how the ice entered his body, freezing all thought and feeling, remember the feeling of free fall. He fell for hours, it seemed, days mayhap. How darkness embraced him and he thought that that’s it; _now I rest,_ no more suffering.

And then there came _heat_ which burned through every inch of his body, igniting every single drop of blood that was left. It was so intense, it burned so intensely, that after hours of complete disorientation upon his awakening, when he finally came back to his senses, he looked for the burnt marks but there were none. Only his old scars and new. After days of pounding on this strange beyond any measure experience, Jon brought himself to ask Lady Melisandre of his resurrection, desperate for answers, but the only thing she told him, brought him no relief whatsoever. “The Lord of Light has deemed you worthy of life, Lord Snow. Don’t ever forget that you owe your life to his Grace”.

He wanted to answer that he was no believer in any gods but the old, no god of fire would bother to spare him a single thought, let alone another chance at life, but… He was there, wasn’t he? He could still remember the feeling of nothingness creeping in his veins all too well to say something so hasty and thoughtless. 

He was dead for days, they told him. Lying in his chamber, his direwolf scaring everyone away. The only person who was permitted to come in was Lady Melisandre who had not emerged once for nearly five days. Not a single person heard a sound from Jon’s room. But what everyone did see was the shadows dancing on the walls. They made no sound, harmed no one but gave off the most frightening feel of _presence_ that swallowed every soul in the castle and for miles around. 

Then suddenly the shadows were gone, the door was no longer locked and Lord Commander Snow was breathing once more. He was weak for days, bedridden, but breathing, alive.

No, he died. He _remembered_ dying. And now he wasn’t dead anymore.

The Red witch looked at him as if he could explain what transpired within his chamber to her. He truly could understand what those looks meant. He was not the one bringing himself back to life. And most certainly, he could not know more about any sort of magic than the priestess of the Fiery God herself. What he could have possibly known that she did not? All those questions were wearing him out and distracting him from the task in hand. 

When he first saw her after dying, she looked more shocked than he was which made him look all more suspicious at her. Lady Melisandre looked at Jon as if he was a miracle of sorts and she could not explain his presence in the world of the living. He hated it.

He hated it with everything he had and then some more.

The priestess kept asking questions about his death like it was her business, not leaving him alone and not giving him a moment’s peace. As if she had any right to stick her nose in his private thoughts and feelings that he normally kept under lock and key, even more so after the revelation, even more so after his _death_. But she did not. And importantly, she did not know. She could not know, not really. She was not where he was, she did not feel what he felt, lying dead in the snow, his life’s blood slowly leaving his body, never to return. She did not feel that heated rage coursing through his veins upon his return like his blood turned to fire. 

And yet… there was something there. _Something_ happened. Jon could not explain what that something was even to himself. It was a feeling of sorts, the feeling of being binded to something, of being held down by something, the feeling of not being let go to the world of the dead. And it felt like a grip around his torso, burnt through his flesh and bones. His torso was the first part of his body he checked for burns for it burned most furiously. And yet there were none. He was beginning to think that he dreamt it all.

 _No,_ he grimly thought to himself, not wanting to go down that path of thought. He was too exhausted to entertain this line of thinking. _No,_ he repeated inwardly with all the conviction he could master. _I am not thinking about that now._

Not realizing his surroundings, he was startled to see Castle Black. Still there, in more or less one piece, the castle stood proudly. It was old and a bit shabby and had seen better days but it was still where it belonged. It was more than Jon could have said for himself. Shaking himself from dangerous thoughts, Jon finally took a look around. It felt foreign to be here again. He never left the Watch and kept coming back day after day after whole nights spent fighting off wights to let the free folk cross the Wall for one reason only. Somebody had to or the world would soon immerse into darkness.

They crossed the yard and something stood out about it right away. There were horses positioned in the yard as if they had too many to fit inside. He almost snorted. Wishful thinking.

Only when he saw Maester Aemon standing and waiting for him, the unwanted realization started creeping up at him at last.

“I trust you came back in one piece, my boy,” the old maester said, knowing Jon’s stepping all too well. It took him by surprise, as always, that he did not mind Aemon as much he thought he would. He was afraid that he would start to resent the old man but never did. Never could bring himself to.

“Aye, uncle,” he mostly whispered as he came closer so that others could not hear the title Jon was giving the old dragon. As usual, Aemon smiled. He always did when Jon called him uncle. It brought so much joy to his face and the unseeing eyes seemed to sparkle with life that Jon’s heart clinched time and time again. He was unused to the gentleness and affection that the old man started showing him after the news reached the Night’s Watch. At first, it was too strange and Jon was too angry. Aemon was the one to give him the letter, stating the story of his parents, then the letter from Lord Arryn with the warning that sounded more like a threat and then the letters that his sire, Prince Rhaegar, had been writing to Aemon since he was a boy. There was another pile of letters but he never asked of them. He also never read the ones of his father. He did not care to. At least that was what he told himself and never asked for them since that day. But his uncle’s presence gave him more comfort that he thought possible in the situation he found himself in. He was the living proof that House Targaryen did not just produce madmen and oathbreakers and Jon was not destined for madness, ruin or shame. 

“Good. Good, boy, I am glad to hear so,” Maester added with more force like he was convincing himself that Jon was back safe and sound. Jon, as always, feeling out of place with such affection, started to back away. Before he could make the first step, however, he was stopped dead in his tracks.

‘Your father, Lord Stark, and your brother, Robb, arrived several days ago, Jon. Lord Commander has already spoken to them. Now they are waiting in my chambers for you’.  
Before he could stop himself, Jon winced uncomfortably. 

His father.  
What a jest it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am changing ages to fit the story. Nothing to specify or warn you about cause it's nothing major but just decided to let you know.
> 
> P.S. I don't like the idea of Jon's real name being Aegon. N-O. It feels disrespectful towards Elia and her son so screw it.

Lord Eddard Stark was standing by the smallest window known to men at the old maester’s study. It was a small chamber filled with personal belongings, dusty shelves, a table, two chairs, a small bed and books. So many books. He had walked the room fifteen times at the very least since the first light broke and read the title of every book on every shelf, even the ones that were piled up by the walls. Many of them were in languages he did not know and some of them were strange although he could put his finger on why he thought them so. His surroundings were quite poor. Maester Aemon would not need much, that was true, but it was rather unsettling that a good man, a good brother of Night’s Watch such as Aemon Targaryen, who served for decades, lived no better than his horses back at Winterfell.

What an unsettling thought.

His son was sitting behind the desk reading a book he picked from the maester’s shelf. Robb barely slept last night. Ned could not get much sleep either. His son looked tired, worn out by the disturbing news they received only a little over fortnight ago. On their way to Castle Black there was dead silence in their midst. None of the Starks were willing to say a word and break that fragile quiet for they were afraid to let themselves express the dread that was pooling in their bellies, freezing them motionless. Their guards probably thought better than to disturb their lords who looked grim and ready to rip a man apart.

 _It cannot be,_ was the only thought on their minds as they travelled day after day, night after night. _It cannot be true._

They shortened the journey by three days, impatient to reach the Wall. When they did, it turned out that Jon had crossed the Wall and would not be back for days. They treated with Lord Commander Mormont and got the update on the repairs that had been underway for the last year. Lord Commander was concerned about money for the bad condition of castles was so great that it would cost a great deal more than the amount Lord Stark had already provided. His fears were proven groundless and they moved on to the next problem the Night’s Watch faced - the lack of fighting men. 

Although the talk with Mormont was a success, Ned avoided maester Aemon to the best of his abilities since the moment they arrived and the brief greetings were expressed. It was stupid, he knew, childish even, but he could not help feeling the guilt. He always knew that Jon had an uncle, another one, on the Wall. He knew that Aemon thought that all of his kin was butchered, dead or lost to him forever and he had no family left. Except for Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys but it has been years since anyone heard a word of them. The rumors across the Narrow Sea died down a while ago. Nobody knew why or how. They must be still fleeing the assassins that Robert kept relentlessly sending their way. None succeeded, of course, but many tried. The silver-haired prince and princess must have become good at avoiding any attempts on their lives. Ned could not imagine how the lack of any whisper or rumor of his relatives worried the maester.

Ned could not help but feel ashamed. Burning with shame. He kept Jon from the maester for fifteen years. Fifteen years that Aemon must have thought that he would never meet his family ever again. Losing his nephew, Prince Rhaegar, was hard on him. And Eddard knew that Rhaegar’s daughter, Princess Rhaenys wrote to her uncle with surprising consistency. She was a bright child, fascinated with the tales of the Age of Heroes, and kept asking Aemon all sorts of questions, complaining that Red Keep did not have enough books on the Night’s Watch and the Long Night that her father was so interested in. Aemon loved his nephew a great deal and was encouraging the prince to learn more, to know more so he could help the people more. 

Ned knew that. After the Tower, after he found out the truth behind his sister’s disappearance, after he found Lya. Upon his returning home he wrote to the maester asking for forgiveness he knew he did not deserve for what he had done during the Rebellion. And maester Aemon granted him what he seeked. And he still had not breathed a word about Jon, too afraid to lose the boy if the truth came out.

But he knew that he was being unreasonable even though his heart was telling him that he was acting a fool, worrying about things he could not change. There was a reason why he never mentioned Jon’s heritage to a living soul. But still somehow it felt wrong to keep the boy from Aemon. Maybe it was the old age or the years on years of experience. But no, it was that maester Aemon gave off the impression of the most trustworthy soul. The 99 years old man had the kindest soul Stark had ever encountered. At nearly hundred years old, the Targaryen had the sharpest mind and showed no decline in his mental faculties. His body was not what it used to be yet he still performed his duties most adequately. 

He knew now, of course. All in Seven Kingdoms knew of the son of the late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark. Prince Jaehaerys of House Targaryen. Ned knew how much Jon hated that name.

Almost exactly fifteen years had passed on the day the truth came out. That was two years ago. For fifteen years Ned kept the secret close to his chest. And that secret was keeping Jon safe. Up until the unspeakable happened and the news flew across Westeros. He had a quite decent idea how that had happened but he could not reveal that to Jon. 

It was hard to imagine that he had not seen the boy, the man grown now, since he departed for King’s Landing. He sent ravens and went to the Night’s Watch once but Jon never wrote back. 

_“Promise me, Ned.”_

In his worst dreams he could still remember the taste of blood in the air, the smell of winter roses, his little sister’s voice, barely above whisper. The heat in those walls was palpable and felt true as if he never left that tower. How those blue roses, dried out and dead, were scattered around her stale room. Her weak, pale as the sheets, so un-Lyanna-like body lying in that bed by the window.

 _“Promise me,”_ she asked him again, begged him, barely managing to whisper those words but somehow making him hear her as loud as ever and swear to ensure her son’s safety to her. Her dying wish. Her son. The babe she never got to raise, never saw him grow, never saw those curls, just like his father’s, that kept getting in the way day after day, year after year. Never saw him becoming a true warrior, who danced with the sword like the knights of old, taking on enemies and slaying them effortlessly. Never got a chance to see in what way he resembled his father and in what way he resembled her. Never got a chance to sing to him, read to him or teach him how to ride a horse. He knew she would want to do all those things herself, showering him with love every moment of every day. Her fate was cruel, taking her away from her son.

She would be the happiest, Ned always thought, that he liked reading. He did not have a lot of time to do it but he loved it. Rhaegar did too, maester Aemon had told him.

_“Promise me, Ned.”_

“Anything?” - Robb’s voice shook him from deep thoughts that were twisting his heart in their cruel grip. He looked out the window and realized that it was almost midday already.

“No, nothing,” Ned breathed out, desperately trying to hide his worry. By the look on his son’s face he knew he failed. 

‘They were supposed to be back two days ago,’ - Robb continued, torturing them both. 

‘Aye,’ - Ned said just to fill the void. Every time he was not careful and let himself think of his dead sister, his heart would break into thousand pieces all over again. Oh, how he have missed that wild she-wolf. And the mischief she always got herself in, dragging Ben alongside with her...

‘Riders! Riders at the gates!’

‘They are back!’

‘Open the gate! Open the gate now!’

And suddenly Lord Stark could breathe again.

Just a few minutes later that felt like hours there came a knock on the door. Robb did not bother himself with formalities and rushed to open the blasted thing that was keeping him away from his best friend.

“Jon!” - the young Stark was smiling from ear to ear and hugging his brother. “You are back!”

Jon could help a small smile forming on his lips: “That I am. Did you miss me terribly?”

‘You wish,’ - Robb laughed, messing Jon’s curls as if they were five year old green boys once again. Jon looked a little pale from the blood loss but was standing firmly across from Ned.

Eddard was standing there, still by the window, speechless, staring at his nephew. He was here, very much alive and mostly unharmed.

“Uncle,” that broad smile died on Jon’s lips fast as he took in Ned’s figure. “Welcome to Castle Black, my lord.”

Robb, frowning, was looking from his father to his brother. He knew that the wound was still fresh for Jon. The subject of his birth parents was never addressed between them before but he always hoped they would reconcile sooner rather than later. Apparently, he was wrong.

“Jon,” Ned almost whispered but then cleared his throat and tried again. “Jon, I am very pleased to find you in good health, son.”

Jon stiffened but nodded in response. “Thank you, my lord. As I you. The leg is better now, I hope?” ever the very embodiment of politeness and the best manners, Jon’s voice was even and void of any emotion. Ned hated it. Robb hated it too.

“‘Aye… aye. Indeed it is.”

The conversation was dying slowly and painfully for all three of them. The tension grew thicker. Robb, not feeling very diplomatic or sensible, for that matter, could not wait any longer.

“We have heard the most disturbing news, brother.”

Jon blinked at him.

“Is it true then?”- Robb asked in a small voice.

‘What do you speak of, brother?’

“Jon!”

The young man sighed. “They wrote to you, didn't they? Who was it? Ed? Maester Aemon? Did Sam manage to hear about what happened all the way from the Citadel and rushed to let you know? Tormund? He was bragging about learning how to write for a while now. If it was Tormund, _no gods_ will help hi...’

“Enough!” - Ned’s voice broke Jon’s mumbles. “Tell us true. Did you…”

“Die?” Jon asked as if they were discussing the weather or the crops.

Lord Stark looked at him with tired, worried eyes. “Is it?”

Jon looked at his uncle, then at his brother, who was chewing his lip, waiting for the answer. He sighed again and nodded. “It is.”

The dead silence got hold of the room. All the noise, all the voice, all of it disappeared as if by magic. Ned could only hear the ringing of Jon’s words and the blood rushing through his ears. _It could not be..._

“How?” he nearly choked the word out, still refusing to believe.

“They stabbed me.” Jon’s voice was colder than ice, colder than death. No life was left in those words. “One by one, they stabbed me and then they watched me die. I bled out in the courtyard."

Robb took a sharp breath in. _I must be dreaming,_ he thought to himself. Jon was standing right in front of him. _How could he die and stand in front of him?_

“How..?” Ned tried to ask but the words were stuck in his throat. His mind was reeling, unable to digest what his son was saying.

“How did I survive? I did not. I died. I was dead for days, they told me. Five days I laid in my chambers dead and cold as stone.”

Both Starks looked at him with horror in their eyes.

“And then I was not dead anymore,” Jon signed as if he had told this story a thousand times before. “The Red Priestess brought me back.”

“I did not know the followers of the Lord of Light were traveling so far north,” Ned said, focusing on the piece of information in this revelation that he could understand. Or at the very least, figure out.

“They do not. She says they are not too fond of the cold.”

“If that is true, how did she end up at Castle Black then?”

“She said something brought her here. She travelled all the way from Dragonstone to the Wall because her God wished so.”

“We owe him many thanks,” Robb shakily said. “He saved you.”

“Aye,” Jon answered with an uneasy smirk. “But why? She could not tell me. She still does not know. The Lord did not tell her why she must do it. And I too do not know the answer. And I do not like being in the dark. Not again.” He glanced briefly at Ned.

Ned opened his mouth to say some silly and clearly unwanted words of explanation but Jon beat him up to it. “I think I heard her voice while I was dead.”

“Whose?”

“Lady Lyanna's.”

Ned’s heart stopped dead in its tracks.


End file.
